


A Tree for (Not Quite) Christmas

by layersofsilence



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Captain America Steve Rogers/Modern Bucky Barnes, Fluff, M/M, Pancakes, Shrunkyclunks, a not-quite-christmas tree, steve and natasha are conned into being festive
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-27
Updated: 2018-12-27
Packaged: 2019-09-28 15:18:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,348
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17185445
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/layersofsilence/pseuds/layersofsilence
Summary: Steve’s been up since three in the morning to deal with these assholes. All he wants now is to go back to their safehouse and nap until Tony picks them up.Of course, he should've known better than to ruminate on that particular subject. As soon as the thought crosses his mind his peaceful bubble is absolutely and comprehensively shattered, first by the slam of a screen door and then by a small girl who barrels from her porch to crash headlong into Steve’s legs.





	A Tree for (Not Quite) Christmas

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ellie-nors (flamewarrior)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/flamewarrior/gifts).



> hey hey! this was written for ellie-nors as part of the cap secret santa, and it's being posted on a not-quite christmas date for a not-quite christmas fic - it takes place a few days after christmas, and i thought it would be cool for posting date and "canonical" date to coincide :) enjoy!

Natasha times her entry into the basement perfectly; her foot hits the last stair just as Steve’s last hostile crumples, his head hitting the concrete with a wet sort of crack that would be concerning if he wasn’t a member of a militaristic offshoot of HYDRA.

“Nice work,” Natasha says, in that dry way that is difficult to distinguish from sarcasm. Steve rolls his eyes, folding his arms as he watches her case the decidedly empty room.

“You couldn’t’ve gotten here any faster, could you?” he asks, because he knows for a fact that she’d taken care of all the hostiles up top over three minutes ago. She shoots him a dry look that makes it abundantly clear that she knows his current unhelpfulness is nothing more than petty revenge.

“You had it all under control,” Natasha says. “And I got to have a look around.” She slants a look at him and wiggles her fingers in an incomprehensible gesture. “Plays to both our strengths.” She steps back, apparently satisfied that the basement is not hiding anything.

“And?” Steve prompts, when it becomes clear that she’s not going to elaborate further.

“Oh, nothing,” Nat says. “They didn’t have much worth looking at.”

Steve snorts a little despite himself. “What were in the boxes at the back?” he asks, and Nat shrugs.

“A few homemade bombs,” she says, like she’s reading out from a grocery list, her voice more sigh than substance. “Basic chemical mixtures. Some HYDRA equipment. Enough to make some idiotic claims from the middle of nowhere, I guess.” Despite everything, Steve has to snort a little at the clear judgement in Natasha’s voice; she likes to use homemade bombs as a yardstick for criminal capabilities, and clearly these men have been found lacking.

“Desperate claims, maybe,” he mutters, but now’s not the time to worry about that. The mission’s over, and he can feel his body losing some of the tension it’s held since they started canvassing this place. “Alright, we can wrap up here,” he says.

“I called the police,” Natasha says, because they’ve worked enough missions together to know what their moves are going to be. “They should be here in a sec. Well,” she amends, checking her wrist. “They should be here now, but we know better than to expect punctuality from anyone.”

“Do we,” Steve snorts. “Let’s go, then.”

“And not here to meet them? Really, Steve,” Nat deadpans, but she falls easily into step with him as he climbs back above ground and sneaks out of the warehouse. The building only has one door, so the two of them make do by stepping carefully through a hole that was created when Steve slung his shield and then a guy through the cheap metal wall.

“You know I don’t like – there’s nothing to say, anyway,” Steve mutters as they move, knowing he sounds petulant but unable to really care about the fact. The homemade bombs and the carefully-destroyed HYDRA equipment should say enough even if the criminals don’t, and Steve’s been up since three in the morning to deal with these assholes. All he wants now is to go back to their safehouse and nap until Tony picks them up.

“Sure, Steve,” Nat says, obnoxiously placating, but she leads them through the back streets of Shelbyville when the noise of police sirens start to drift their way with the confidence of someone who has had their escape plan mapped out in their head for days.

It’d been dark when they’d stormed into the warehouse, but the sun’s come up during the fight, bouncing off the snow on the streets. The hour would probably mean a buzz of activity at any other time, but it’s still the holidays and people are still sleeping off their food comas; aside from the Christmas lights blinking out from nearly every porch – every porch save one, in fact – it’s blissfully quiet and peaceful as they make their way back to the safehouse.

Steve should have known better than to ruminate on that particular subject. As soon as the thought crosses his mind that peaceful bubble is absolutely and comprehensively shattered, first by the slam of a screen door and then by a small girl who barrels from the single lightless porch to crash headlong into Steve’s legs.

Usually, he swears, he’s good at dealing with people, including small people. Right now he’s tired enough that he just stares down at the wide grey eyes below him. The girl currently leaning against his knees is short and small, with messy braids sticking out above each ear. Steve can’t tell whether she’s eight or twelve or somewhere in between.

“Hi,” he says, after a pause that he _knows_ was way too long. And if he hadn’t been aware, Natasha’s snicker would have informed him.

“Hi,” the girl returns. She blinks up at him for a second longer and then turns towards Natasha in a clear dismissal as her expression grows more admiring by several orders of magnitude. “Are you…the Black Widow?” she breathes.

“I am,” Nat says, guarded as always, although even Steve can tell her she doesn’t need to be.

He doesn’t have to, though: the girl’s eyes widen and she breathes, “You’re my _favourite_ ,” and Steve has the unique pleasure of watching Nat melt a little and blush just a tiny bit right in front of his eyes. 

“Thank you,” she says, falling back on formality. The girl doesn’t seem to mind terribly.

“You’re _welcome_ ,” she says, her breath still barely above a murmur. Then, all at once, her admiration seems to fade, as though it’s been shoved into the back of her mind, and she straightens off Steve’s knees with new purpose. “Will you help me with my tree?”

Nat shoots a glance at Steve, blink-and-you-miss-it quick, and all he can do is shrug a little at her; she’s he one being talked to, after all. Nat crouches in the snow. “Your tree?”

The girl nods, stepping closer. “I need to decorate it before Bucky wakes up. And build it.”

“Build it?” Nat echoes.

“Your tree,” Steve says. The girl nods at them, very earnest and with very large eyes. “Um. What’s – what’s the date today?” Tony had had a massive party just a night or so before they’d left, and it was true that Steve hadn’t been paying much attention to the goings-on but he was fairly sure that it’d been a Christmas party. He distinctly remembers Natasha installing mistletoe in every doorway and plastering most of the ceiling as well.

The girl’s face falls a little, and Nat saves the situation by scoffing loudly. “I don’t see what that has to do with anything,” she says, and tips a wink to the girl, who looks even more adoring than she had before.

“Well – I know, I just –”

“I’m Natasha, and this is Steve,” Nat says.

“I’m Becca. Well, Rebecca, but just – Becca.”

“Well then. Lead the way, Becca,” Natasha says, and puts an elbow out for her to hold as they walk. Steve trails behind them, feeling at once extraordinarily lost and simultaneously dreadfully, awkwardly aware of what’s happening and his utter helplessness to stop it.

“You have to be quiet,” Becca says as they climb the steps onto the one porch without any Christmas lights strung up on them. They creak loudly, and she frowns. “I cancelled Bucky’s alarm but he might wake up at _any minute_.” 

“Quiet, got it,” Natasha says with a nod, like she’s not a deadly operative whose default mode is eerily silent.

“What’s a Bucky?” Steve asks.

“He’s my brother,” Becca says as she opens the front door. It squeaks loudly enough that both Steve and Nat wince, and that’s before they see the living room.

The place is, quite simply, in a state of carnage. A plastic stick scrapes the ceiling, and scattered all over the ground are imitation pine tree branches, each one looking as though they’ve been carefully prepped to take up as much room as possible. Decorations are strewn across what is probably a carpet, although it’s slightly difficult to tell what lies under the foot-deep layer of tinsel and baubles. A large grey cat stares at them from the back of the sofa, tail lashing in what is either an expression of displeasure at this encroachment of its territory or a desperate attempt to stay upright.

“I couldn’t get a real one by myself,” Becca says mournfully. “Even though I _tried_. Mrs. McGillycuddy next next door said I could have her real one, except it was dying and shaking pine needles everywhere so she gave me her plastic one instead but I can’t figure it _out_ and Bucky’s going to wake up _any minute_ and –”

“Hey –” Nat tries, but Becca is gone.

“– I want it to be a surprise but it’s just going to be a _mess_ –”

“ _Hey_ ,” Nat says again, more firm, and puts one hand on Becca’s shoulder. “Don’t worry. We’ve got this. Haven’t we, Steve?”

“Oh, sure,” Steve says, staring at the fake pine branches all over the ground and doing a very good job of keeping his voice quite neutral. “We’ve got this.”

Becca stares between them for a moment, hugging herself gently. “Thanks,” she says, a little subdued. “Do you want breakfast?”

“Um –”

“Yes,” Natasha says firmly. “We would love breakfast.”

“I’ll make more pancake mix,” Becca says, and makes it halfway to the kitchen before turning around and running back to hug Natasha around the middle, silent but smiling.

“You’re welcome,” Natasha says, so quiet as to be almost inaudible. Her hand moves robotically to pat Becca on the head once, and then twice, and then Becca darts out from underneath the third descent to attend to her bowl of pancake mix. “Don’t,” Natasha says, once Becca is out of earshot, “say a _word_.”

“I just think it’s cute, is all,” Steve says mildly, and watches with badly hidden delight as Nat’s ears pinken.

“Yeah, well – we have a tree to build,” she says. “How hard can –”

“Don’t say that,” Steve hisses, brandishing one of the plastic pine branches. “Don’t say it. You _know_ that just makes anything impossible.”

For a moment the two of them stand and contemplate the mess that is the living room floor, but after a moment and picking up a few pieces – “Steve, really. How hard can it be.”

“Yeah, okay,” Steve concedes, staring at the coloured tabs that show quite clearly what is meant to go where. “The hardest part is going to be detangling that tinsel.”

“We could just drape it over the tree as-is.”

“Sure, ‘cause that’s going to look good,” Steve grumbles, gingerly shaking baubles onto the couch where they clink against each other gently.

Just about all the branches have been slotted neatly into their places when Becca next looks back from her growing stack of pancakes and positively squeaks with delight, bouncing on her toes and applauding so enthusiastically that she smacks herself in the nose with her bright yellow spatula. “Thank you!” she exclaims, high-pitched but quiet. “It’s _perfect_!”

She hurries into the living room to touch the branches reverently, and Natasha slips behind her to take care of the stove.

“We have to decorate it now,” Becca tells Steve seriously, peering up at him with eyes that are unfairly large and earnest.

“Of course we do,” Steve agrees.

“You’ve got the right man for it,” Natasha calls from the kitchen, where she has taken up residence frying up the pancakes, which is a sight Steve never expected to see. “Steve there has an artistic soul.”

“I’ll give you an artistic soul,” Steve grumbles, but under the onslaught of Becca’s immediate pleading face he relents almost immediately. “Tinsel or baubles?” he asks her. Her face goes from pleading to serious in an instant as she contemplates this.

“I think…tinsel first. Then baubles.”

“Tinsel first,” Steve agrees seriously. She points one out among the glittering mass on the sofa, and he scoops her up as he hands it to her, leaning forward slightly so she can drape the red carefully over the top of the tree.

“There,” she says, sitting back on his shoulder. The red tinsel gleams happily out at them. “Can you pass me the silver baubles, please? Since I’m up here, and all.”

“Of course,” Steve agrees, offering her a handful. She places them carefully on the tree’s feathered branches, tongue sticking just slightly out of her mouth as she works.

“You do those three,” she says, in between her own decisions. Natasha leans against the kitchen counter and snaps a photo on her phone – one where Steve is contemplating the tree, and another when he turns to scowl at her. Somehow, she’s managed to utilise her unique skillset to double the pile of pancakes in no time at all.

About half of the tree has been lavishly decorated when there’s a heavy thunk from the stairs that has everyone swinging around to see a man there.

“Becca,” the man – presumably Bucky – now sitting on the stairs says, his hands over his cheeks, “what’s going on?”

All Steve can see are brief instances of his face between his fingers, but it’s enough to know that the man is unfairly good-looking, that he has the same wide bright eyes as Becca, and that he looks tired. Those sharp eyes focus on Steve despite the fogginess in them, the man’s gaze focused just beside Steve’s face. Steve clears his throat awkwardly and lowers Becca to the ground.

“Steve and Nat are helping me with your surprise,” Becca answers, and then seems to realise what she’d said, and gasps. “No! Your surprise!”

“Oh, I’m surprised all right,” Bucky assures her. “Steve and Nat, huh?”

“They’re not strangers,” Becca says defensively. Steve can feel himself twitch uncomfortably and only just manages to avoid clearing his throat. “They’re _Avengers_.”

“They…sure are,” Bucky says on a sigh, and his hands come right back up to his face, rubbing his eyes. “They are that.”

“Mr –” Steve starts, stepping forward, and only gets as far as that one word before he realises that he doesn’t know this guy’s last name. Or his first name, probably; the modern world has a lot of strange names but he’s about eighty percent sure that Bucky isn’t one of them. “Uh, please – excuse us, we’re so sorry for intruding –”

“No, no, Becca would’ve made it real clear if you were intruding,” Bucky says, waving Steve off. “I’m sorry for my general –” he gestures to himself, pulling a self-deprecating face. “If I’d known I was going to be hosting I would’ve – I don’t know, woken up earlier. Drank my coffee quicker.” He rubs his face with one hand and sticks the other one out. “Sorry, I’m a mess. James Barnes. But just – call me Bucky.”

“You’re fine,” Steve blurts out, and winces at his lack of – well, what Sam would call game. He can almost feel Natasha’s eyebrow raising from across the room. “I mean, you’re – we took you by surprise, don’t beat yourself up for – anything – it was meant to be a surprise, right, Becca?”

“Right,” Becca says.

“I’m Steve,” Steve finishes weakly, and realises he’s still shaking Bucky’s hand.

“That’s – yep,” Bucky says weakly. “Consider me…well and truly surprised.”

“I’m Natasha,” Nat says, saving Steve as he miserably, awkwardly extricates himself from Bucky by sticking out her hand and a plate of pancakes. “Have some pancakes. Becca made them for you.”

“They look great, Becks, thank you,” Bucky says gamely. “Sorry, can I just –” He makes to duck around Steve towards the kitchen, and Steve yanks himself backwards.

“Sorry! Sorry, yeah.” For lack of anything else to do, he watches awkwardly as Bucky makes his way to the kitchen and pours himself some coffee and then pours his pancakes some maple syrup, and there’s something beyond morning blues in the slump of his shoulders, in the way he sets his mug down in the sink with a plunk.

Becca moves into the kitchen, and Natasha moves out. “You okay?” Becca asks, her voice quiet in a way that means Steve and Nat aren’t meant to hear it. Steve can’t quite help what the serum does, though.

“I’m fine, Becks,” Bucky says, taking her hand, and there’s a long moment where he just holds it, not drinking his coffee and not looking up, until finally he speaks again, even quieter. “Why didn’t you…I didn’t know you wanted a tree for Christmas.” Steve turns back to the tree, wishing he could plug his ears.

“I don’t really care,” Becca says. “I just thought maybe…it could be a good distraction. Like a nice surprise. We can take it down if you want!” she exclaims, voice growing louder. Steve concentrates very hard on the tree.

“No, don’t,” Bucky says. “It is a nice surprise. It _is_ ,” he insists laughingly a moment later. And then again, more quietly: “I know it’s a tough day for you too. Thanks for thinking of me.”

There’s silence again, and when Steve finally dares to look up the two of them are hugging each other tightly. He looks at Nat, and she only shrugs at him.

When the silence stretches on for too long Steve walks over to the table where his pancakes are, making carefully sure to nudge a chair in the process and let it squeak against the ground. “Sorry,” he says, when the Barnes siblings look up at him as though shocked out of a trance. “Should Nat and I –”

“Oh, no, please don’t go!” Bucky exclaims, sitting up so straight that it looks slightly painful. “No, it’s fine, please, finish what you…or at least your pancakes…” He trails off awkwardly, looking between everyone. “Unless you want to – I’m sure you have things to do –”

“Not for another few hours,” Nat says smoothly.

“Eat _your_ pancakes,” Becca says depositing Bucky’s plate of syrup-drowned pancakes on his lap.

“Thank you,” Bucky says, and follows it up with, “It’s _amazing_ ,” as soon as he puts a piece in his mouth. Becca grins at him, and he gives her a little one-armed hug before pushing her back towards the tree. “Go on,” he encourages. “Make it pretty.”

Becca sniffs, and it’s hard to tell whether it’s real or put-on. “It’s already pretty,” she mumbles.

Bucky grins at that, a lopsided thing that is nevertheless the first smile Steve has seen on him since he’d come down the stairs. He’s beautiful when he smiles, Steve thinks, and then promptly ducks his head, cheeks flaming. Natasha, thank fuck, is too busy eating her own share of the pancakes to notice. “It is that,” Bucky agrees. “It’s really pretty, Becca.”

Becca positively preens at that, and scoops up half of the remaining handful of decorations. “It was _meant_ to be a surprise,” she says reproachfully, as though Bucky can help that fact now. “But since you’re up I guess you can put these on the tree.”

“Well, thank you,” Bucky says, and that chat has made a difference; he’s straighter now, and capable of playing coy as he bats his eyes at Becca, who scoffs and rolls her own. He looks around as he kneels near the base of the Christmas tree and waves at Steve. “Hey, get yourself some pancakes! I think you’re the only one who isn’t – wait there, just let me –”

“Oh no, you don’t have to –” Steve starts, trying to hurry over to the table as soon as he realises that Bucky’s getting up, but he’s too late; with all his enhanced reflexes and super-speed he can’t be in two places at once, and by the time he sticks the three remaining ornaments in his hands onto the tree and gets to the table before Bucky has piled a plate high with pancakes.

“Come on, you must be hungry,” he says. “I’m no expert but I have it on good authority that hauling around and decorating a Christmas tree is hard work.”

“I – well, thanks,” Steve says finally, because he _is_ hungry, and Nat’s eaten about half of the pile already. Not that he thinks they’re poisoned or anything, it’s just – it seems vaguely impolite to eat in another person’s home, is all.

“I think I should be the one thanking you,” Bucky says drily, and hands him the maple syrup, because apparently he’s not done giving Steve things. Their fingers brush as the bottle changes hands, and Steve feels a jolt of warmth zing through him that can’t reasonably be attributed to the chilled glass of the syrup bottle. “It’s – our parents died today,” he says quietly. “Last year.”

“Oh, you don’t have to –”

“I want to. You guys deserve an explanation for the little – scene in the kitchen,” Bucky says. “We’re Jewish, and Becca’s never been interested in the Christmas lights and trees and stuff, but I guess this year she wanted – well. Thanks for helping her out.”

“It was nothing, really,” Steve mumbles. “Just what anyone would do.”

Bucky looks a little like he’s going to argue the point further, but Steve stuffs a pancake into his mouth and renders himself useless to talk to. Bucky closes his mouth again, but when he takes the syrup bottle back their fingers brush again, a little longer this time.

“Buck, you still have –” Becca takes a second to count, “five ornaments to hang. Stop slacking off.”

“How very dare I,” Bucky agrees, and in an instant that space beside Steve is empty again, and Bucky is sitting at the base of the tree arguing about whether to put the red glittery bauble on _this_ branch or _that_ one.

“So,” a sly voice says from his other side, “he seemed to like you.”

“Oh, no,” Steve mutters, even though he can _feel_ his traitorous cheeks heating. “I don’t know what you mean.” In a way, he wasn’t lying; he was fairly sure that all the liking had been coming from his side of the equation. Bucky was just – being nice, that’s all.

“I’m sure you don’t,” Nat says, her voice drier than a desert – but then she leaves it, the silence stretching between them as Becca and Bucky continue to bicker, and when Steve shoots her a suspicious look he finds her watching the two of them with a slight smile on her face.

Finally, the two siblings stand and step away from the tree, glancing from it to each other and then back again. “I think you did pretty good,” Bucky says finally.

“We did good,” Becca says pointedly, and looks back at Steve and Nat. “We did good,” she repeats.

“Well, I’m not about to contradict you,” Nat says, a smile tugging at her mouth. For all her coolness she does offer her hand to Becca, though, and Becca high-fives it gleefully and promptly expects high-fives from Steve and Bucky as well, which – who are they to turn her down?

“How are you guys doing with the pancakes?” Bucky asks, which is how they find out that between all the decorating they’ve barely made a dent in the pile, which in turn is how they find themselves camped out beneath the newly built and decorated not-quite-Christmas tree stuffing their faces and stealing viciously from each other, which Steve entirely blames Natasha for.

“Those were some good pancakes,” Nat says mournfully, once they have been entirely and comprehensively demolished.

“Thank you,” Becca says, the words garbled as she licks maple syrup off her fingers.

“No, thank you for feeding us,” Steve says. “That was exactly what I needed.”

“Maybe you should drop by again,” Bucky says. The words make Steve look up quickly, but Bucky is looking down at his plate and his profile is unreadable. Nat nudges Steve extremely unsubtly.

“I’d like that,” he makes himself admit, and the way Bucky’s face brightens as he looks up is just – everything.

“Great,” Natasha says, apparently having finally reached her limits with their collective uselessness. “You can call it a date.”

“You can?” Steve asks stupidly. 

Bucky freezes, hesitates. “Well, not if you don’t want to.”

Nat elbows Steve mercilessly, and all he lets out is a useless sort of squeak.

“He does –”

“I do want to,” Steve blurts out. He can’t quite believe that this is what his morning has come to, but he’s very decidedly not complaining. “A lot. Very much.”

Bucky grins again, a little shy. “I’d like that too,” he says, and Steve could happily spend all day staring uselessly at him and his shy, sweet smile.

“ _I’d_ like that too,” Becca says, effectively startling him back into the present.

“I –” Bucky looks from her to Steve and then back to her.

“You’re such an idiot sometimes,” Becca mutters, flicking Bucky’s hair, and ensures that she gets the last word by marching over to the sink.

Nat checks her phone pointedly, and when Steve does the same he realises why she’s been pushing so hard for a resolution: extraction is in less than twenty minutes, and they still have to make it to the safehouse.

“We should –” He gestures uselessly; Bucky nods, almost equally useless.

“Yeah.”

“But I’ll –?”

“ _Yeah_.”

“Alright,” Steve says, and can’t quite keep the grin off his face. “Alright. Here, take –” He fumbles with his phone but gets it to Bucky eventually, the new contact page open and waiting.

Bucky glances at Becca, still washing dishes, and when he hands the phone back the reason becomes clear: a picture of mistletoe winks up at him.

“It’s customary to kiss over the mistletoe, isn’t it?” Bucky asks, blinking innocently at Steve, who would like to be more sceptical but is too damn charmed to do anything but smile and oblige Bucky with a quiet, closed-mouth kiss that is almost as sweet as he is.

“I’ll text you,” he promises, still a little bit absolutely dumbstruck that this is how his morning turned out, that this is what he’s found, and Bucky smiles at him.

“I’ll hold you to that.”

**Author's Note:**

> it's been a year! here's hoping you all had very happy holiday seasons & will go on to have excellent new years <3
> 
> as always, hit me up at [tumblr](https://layersofsilences.tumblr.com), or find the rest of my social medias in my [dreamwidth masterpost](https://layersofsilence.dreamwidth.org/279.html) <3


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